


Waiting is Such Misery

by Impala_Chick



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fantasizing, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Season/Series 04, Touch-Starved, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 03:43:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19985524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Chick/pseuds/Impala_Chick
Summary: Arthur doesn’t realize just how often he touches Merlin until he isn’t allowed to touch him anymore.





	Waiting is Such Misery

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Merlin/Arthur Touchfest 2019.
> 
> Title from the Black Keys song _Your Touch_.

Merlin is busy gathering Arthur’s discarded pants and sweat-stained tunics from the floor. Arthur has already finished breakfast, but Merlin hasn’t stopped frantically moving around Arthur’s room ever since he entered with a tray of food. He gets up and claps his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, ready to ask why he seems to be in such a rush. The words die on his lips when Merlin whimpers and flinches away.

“What’s wrong?” Arthur asks immediately as he retracts his hand. Merlin looks down at his feet and sighs before looking back up at Arthur.

“I, um. It’s rather embarrassing really…” Merlin trails off. He’s holding a fistful of Arthur’s clothes in his right hand, and he raises the pile to start picking at the hems with his left.

“Merlin, out with it,” Arthur pushes, his worry rising exponentially the more Merlin defers. 

Merlin looks down at the floor as he speaks. “Giaus has assured me it’s not contagious, and he’s already put something on it, so I really wouldn’t be concerned, but… I’ve got a rash.”

Arthur carefully schools his expression so as not to look as if he is judging Merlin, but his statement raises more questions. 

“What kind of rash?” He asks slowly. There had been rumors recently. Some people were getting rashes on their thighs and groins after sharing their bed with someone, and Arthur couldn’t help but wince at the thought that he’d somehow made Merlin sick.

Merlin must notice his expression because he holds his hands up, still clenching the tunics, and shakes his head hastily.

“Nothing like that, Arthur. There were some particularly nasty plants I was supposed to be gathering, only I tripped. And I had a rather terrible, itchy reaction. It’s all over my back and my arm.” He looks up at Arthur, his cheeks tinged pink from embarrassment.

“Is it… will it last?” Arthur asks. 

“Giaus assures me it will be gone in a few days. But for now I’d really appreciate it if you kept your hands to yourself,” Merlin says with a small smile. “No matter how difficult that might be.” His voice clearly implies that he thinks it will be extremely difficult. 

“Right,” Arthur says sarcastically and rolls his eyes. “I hardly ever touch you. Except when I take you to bed.”

“If you say so, Sire,” Merlin says breezily. 

Arthur puts his hands on his hips and glares at Merlin. 

“I’ll be able to manage, _Merlin_. Don’t act like this is such a hardship for me when you’re the one with the rash.”

Merlin huffs a laugh as he gets back to picking up the laundry. Arthur scoffs, but picks up his sword and sheaths it. He’s due at the practice field, so he doesn’t have time to argue with Merlin. But he knows he can put Merlin’s well being before his own and keep his hands off. It’s only a couple of days, after all.

\----

Percival has just demonstrated the best way to break a man’s back, even though he prefaced the demonstration by saying that such a move should be a last resort. It is extremely doubtful that anyone else could even manage it, but they all practice anyway. Gwaine has Elyan in a rather impressive headlock, and is threatening to demonstrate the manuever. Arthur laughs at them, but when he notices Merlin standing near the edge of the field he jogs over to him.

“I should probably stop them at some point,” Arthur says as he points his chin back towards his knights. He reaches out a hand to pat Merlin on the shoulder, and Merlin flinches away.

“Don’t you remember what I said before?” Merlin says, shooting Arthur an incredulous look with his eyes wide. Arthur’s hand is still in the air, pathetically holding onto absolutely nothing. He quickly puts it back down.

Arthur shrugs. 

“Just seeing if you were paying attention,” he teases, deflecting. But he groans inwardly, annoyed at himself for reaching out to Merlin without even thinking.

“It seems like they are having fun,” Merlin says as he looks back out at Gwaine and Elyan, now rolling around on the ground. Arthur nods and crosses his arms over himself, grasping at his own elbow self-consciously.

\----

At the afternoon council meeting the next day, Merlin hovers behind him like he normally does. He brings silver goblets out and sets them on the table. When he leans forward to pour water into Arthur’s goblet, Arthur leans slightly to his right to nudge Merlin’s elbow. Merlin jolts his arm away when Arthur makes contact, and a little bit of the water from the pitcher spills on the table before Merlin corrects his grip.

“Shit, sorry,” Arthur grumbles under his breath. 

The corner of Merlin’s mouth turns up in a sympathetic smile, as if Arthur is the one who needs pity. Then he leans in close, and his breath ghosts against the shell of Arthur’s ear. “It’s okay.”

And then Merlin pulls back to pour water for the rest of the council members, and Arthur hastily looks around. No one seems to have noticed their interaction, and Arthur breathes a sigh of relief. He doesn’t particularly want anyone to know about his affection for his manservant, but he definitely doesn’t want anyone to see him apologizing for something so silly.

He looks up and tracks Merlin with his eyes while keeping an ear tuned to the conversation, but Merlin never meets his gaze. Arthur feels particularly put out by Merlin’s distinct lack of interest, and wonders whether his idle hands angered Merlin. He tucks his hands under his thighs to keep himself from moving them.

\----

No meetings are scheduled, he’s given his knights the day off, and there is nothing urgent that needs doing. So Arthur doesn’t bother getting out of bed when sunlight streams between the window curtains, and he rolls over to catch a few more minutes sleep.

That is, until Merlin bursts into his room. Arthur hears him whistle and rip open the curtains, and Arthur groans into his pillow.

“Merlin, there’s nothing going on today,” he says, his voice muffled. He’d had trouble getting to bed in the first place, mostly because he knew he couldn’t call Merlin to his bed. The more he thought about the fact that he _couldn’t_ , the more he wanted to. 

“Exactly why you should get up. You can catch up on all of those inventory documents we need to go over.” Merlin’s voice is cheery and business-like. Arthur is busy trying to remember when Merlin learned to sound like a council member, so he doesn’t realize Merlin has leaned over the bed to grab at his arms. His fingers close around Arthur’s forearm and he pulls Arthur towards the edge of the bed. In automatic retaliation, Arthur grabs Merlin’s bicep to shove him back.

Once Arthur’s fingers close around the rough fabric of his tunic, Merlin yelps and lets go. His wide go wide in pain, and then Merlin turns his back on Arthur to grab something out of his wardrobe. 

“Still hurts then?” Arthur asks softly, feeling embarrassed. He wraps his arms around his chest, unsure what to do now that he’s made it awkward between them.

“Yeah, not as much as yesterday though,” Merlin says as he turns around, blouse in hand. He keeps flicking his eyes up from the floor to steal glances at Arthur, like he feels aggrieved by the situation they are in. Arthur wants so badly to get down from his bed and pull Merlin close. He wants to apologize in the best way he knows how. With his fingers, and tongue, and teeth. 

Merlin’s sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, and his pale forearms are exposed. Arthur debates reaching out and touching him there, but he’s still in bed and Merlin is across the room.

“I can’t believe you let a plant get the better of you,” Arthur chides, hoping to diffuse the tension he feels between them. Merlin gestures with his hand for Arthur to get out of bed and approach him, so Arthur throws back the blankets to oblige.

“M’Lord, you are quite right. I really should have shown that plant who is boss. Maybe I should have hacked it up with a sword?” Merlin says sarcastically. Arthur feels grateful that Merlin has allowed them to pick up a casual conversation and takes comfort in Merlin’s tone.

“Oh come off it, Merlin. You wouldn’t know what to do with a sword if it jumped into your hand,” Arthur teases as he takes the shirt from Merlin and steps behind the dressing screen. 

“I think you might be surprised,” Merlin says, his voice decidedly low and suggestive. That’s when Arthur realizes the innuendo evident in what he’d just said. 

“There isn’t much about you that surprises me these days,” Arthur lies, keeping his voice neutral as he pulls off his sleep shirt and puts on his white blouse.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, Sire.” Merlin’s voice is still dangerously low, and if Arthur didn’t know any better he’d assume that Merlin was trying to entice him back to bed. Arthur takes a deep breath and gathers his resolve before stepping back out from behind the screen.

“You would do well to listen to your King,” Arthur says as he smooths his shirt and meets Merlin’s clear blue eyes. He has his hands clasped behind his back and his mouth is pressed into a thin line, but his eyes are sparkling with amusement. He nods, once. 

“Shall I get breakfast then?” 

“Please,” Arthur says as he sits down in his chair, his back stiff. As soon as Merlin steps out and closes the door, Arthur slumps forward with a sigh.

He thinks about the way Merlin’s skin feels beneath his hands, usually cool to the touch and smooth. He thinks about how Merlin is ticklish along his ribs. He thinks about how Merlin sounds when Arthur rubs his fingertips along Merlin’s nipples or rubs his thumb against the head of his cock. 

Arthur is interrupted from his daydreams when Merlin returns. He adjusts himself in his breeches and keeps his eyes on his food.

\----

Merlin reads aloud from a scroll about grain production totals in the lower town, while Arthur copies the numbers neatly into a column on the parchment laid out on his desk. Once Merlin reaches the end of the list, Arthur replaces his quill in the inkwell and leans down to blow over the ink in hopes that it will dry faster. The day had turned into one filled with seemingly endless paperwork, but they are nearly done.

As he is leaning over the paper, Merlin steps into his space and looks over his shoulder to squint at the numbers he’s written. 

“Hmm. Seems like we are up from last year,” Merlin observes as he puts his hand on the edge of Arthur’s desk. He doesn’t step back, and his arm is as close as it possibly could be to Arthur’s without touching. His breath tickles Arthur’s neck, and Arthur is very aware of the way Merlin seems to have him caged in. Arthur’s pulse starts to pound in his ears, but he keeps his palms pressed against the table, careful not to touch. 

“Yes, I think so. Maybe we should think of a way to reward the farmers for their ingenuity,” Arthur says, even though the farmers are the last thing on his mind at the moment. 

Merlin murmurs ascent. Arthur breathes in harshly through his nose, and clenches his fingers against the wood at the edge of the desk. He can smell the leather of Merlin’s jacket and the gentle lavender of the soap he’d used.

“That just about does it for the harvest totals this year,” Merlin says breezily. He lingers a moment before removing his arm and stepping away.

Arthur groans and thunks his head against the back of his chair.

“Something wrong, Sire?” Merlin asks, his voice innocent. But his body language gives him away. His shoulders are shaking in silent laughter, and his eyes are bright as he glances down at Arthur’s hands before rolling up the scroll he’d been holding.

Arthur shakes his head, eyes narrowed suspiciously. Even if Merlin is teasing him, Arthur can’t think of a good way to retaliate so he says nothing.

“That will be all,” Arthur says. 

Merlin flashes him another grin before he gathers up the scrolls on the desk. He pauses at Arthur’s chamber door.

“See you at dinner,” he says, his voice soft and his gaze questioning.

Arthur nods, his earlier annoyance wearing off already. Arthur reminds himself it is Merlin who is suffering from physical pain, and he shouldn’t be so greedy.

\----

As Arthur tucks into his chicken and vegetables, he gestures for Merlin to refill his goblet. He’s having dinner with his Uncle, who seems delighted to hear in frightening detail about all the progress Arthur made cataloguing Camelot’s foodstuffs and supplies.

Merlin leans over Arthur’s shoulder to pour the wine. Merlin’s lashes are dark, contrasting with the pale white of his cheekbones. He flicks his eyes up towards Arthur and pauses before he pulls back from the table. Arthur doesn’t miss a beat in the conversation with Agravaine, but he purposefully lets his eyes linger on Merlin’s. He’s so close that the leather of his jacket brushes against Arthur’s arm when he moves, and Arthur’s eyes are drawn to where his neckerchief has loosened to expose a bit of Merlin’s clavicle. 

Merlin ducks his head and steps back, but Arthur’s fingers are itching to reach out and pull him back. 

Arthur starts to entertain a fantasy about taking Merlin right there, on top of the dinner table in front of Agravaine and the other servants and the whole council. He’d never really do it, but the thought of showing Merlin off excites him. He’d be proud to draw out those mewling, begging noises Merlin makes when Arthur touches him. He has no doubt that everyone would be just as enthralled as he is by Merlin’s smooth, sensitive skin. Skin that is so rarely on display.

Arthur shakes his head to clear the images from his mind. He idly wonders if going three days without sex could addle his brain.

Then Merlin leans in again, and Arthur is immediately aware of the heat of his body. Arthur didn’t need any more wine, but Merlin pours a little into his goblet anyway. His arousal is probably fairly obvious when Merlin leans over and flicks his gaze down into Arthur’s lap. When he looks up, his pupils are blown wide in surprise. Arthur shifts in his seat and turns away, suddenly ashamed of his fantasy. He can feel Merlin watching him even as he moves away. 

Arthur directs all of his attention at Agravaine, willing his body to relax. Merlin stands just behind Agravaine’s shoulder, in Arthur’s line of sight. Arthur doubts this is a coincidence, but does his best not to look at Merlin while he and Agravaine talk.

The moment Arthur finishes his wine, Merlin is back at his side. His fingers brush the back of Arthur’s hand as he reaches out to pick up the goblet. Arthur’s hand lifts up off the table to chase after the touch, but Merlin has already retracted his hand. 

Luckily for Arthur, Agravaine says he’s tired soon after that and asks to be excused. Arthur gets up when Agravaine does, ready to bolt to his room. His hand is already wrapped around the cold metal of the door handle when Merlin’s voice gives him pause.

“Shall I turn down your bed, Sire?” Merlin’s voice sounds sweet and innocent, and Arthur glances back over his shoulder at him. He sets down the pitcher of wine and bites his bottom lip, and Arthur is powerless to resist. 

“Yes,” he says stiffly. 

He retreats to his room, his skin feeling prickly and hot as he waits for Merlin to come up after clearing their plates. His mind helpfully reminds him of his fantasy from earlier, but he does not dwell on it. His thoughts flit from picturing Merlin out on the practice field watching him, to Merlin’s strong hands gripping his arm to pull him out of bed, to Merlin leaning down to pour his wine. 

When Merlin bursts into the room a moment later, Arthur jolts in surprise. 

“Sire?” Merlin says. Arthur knows by now that Merlin only calls him by his title in private if he’s mocking him, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, Arthur steps forward to grab Merlin’s hand. 

“Surely, this part doesn’t hurt from the rash?” He asks. Merlin gives a small shake of his head and smiles as Arthur gently presses his lips against Merlin’s palm.

“What’s wrong with you? You’re never this bloody romantic,” Merlin says, his voice amused.

“Don’t be daft. Surely you know exactly what you’ve been doing.” Arthur drops Merlin’s hand with a huff and turns away, now feeling ashamed for disrupting the status quo. Neither of them ever spent much time on poems, or flowers, or other tender endearments. Mostly because Merlin always insists that none of that is necessary. Such tender touches are for lovers, not friends who fuck.

Merlin grabs his arm to turn him around, his fingers cool and welcoming against Arthur’s forearm.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin smirks. “You just make it so easy to tease you.”

Arthur scowls, his eyes narrowing as he glares at Merlin. He’s not above issuing some sort of punishment for Merlin’s purposeful transgression, if only to cover up his own shame. Under the circumstances, maybe no action is punishment enough.

“You can do what you like tonight, Merlin,” Arthur finally says, his tone dismissive as he shakes his hand free from Merlin’s grasp. Merlin doesn’t move, his eyes focused on Arthur’s face. Arthur feels a familiar tug in his gut, urging him to reach out and touch and _possess_. But Merlin hasn’t healed yet, and Arthur doesn’t know what Merlin is expecting him to do. They’ve never shared a bed when they couldn't bring each other off.

“What I would _like_ is to stay.” He’s looking at Arthur defiantly, with his arms crossed and his shoulders tense. Arthur knows that what he says next will either provoke a fight or afford them both enough peace to be able to fall asleep. He decides that even though he can’t touch Merlin, he can still share his bed. 

“I won’t deny you that,” he answers softly, giving in. Merlin springs into action at the words. He pulls down the heavy blanket, hands Arthur his sleep pants from the cupboard, and helps Arthur take off his shirt. He gestures for Arthur to get into the bed as soon as Arthur changes, and his eyes are dark and assessing. Arthur finds he likes being watched like that so he slowly climbs into bed, his eyes never leaving Merlin’s face.

As soon as his legs are under the covers, he scoots over to make room. Merlin kicks off his pants, unties his scarf, and then gingerly pulls his tunic over his head. Now that his skin is exposed, Arthur can see that his right shoulder is red and blistered. Arthur wrinkles his nose as he thinks about the pain it must be causing Merlin. Merlin’s mouth turns up at the corners in a small smile, but he doesn’t comment. 

When Merlin climbs into bed, Arthur is careful to lay flat so that their bodies won’t touch. Merlin immediately rolls onto his side and props himself up on his left elbow. Arthur assumes he’s trying to avoid resting his itchy skin against the bed, so he presses his eyes closed to feign sleep.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispers. “I could…” 

He trails his fingertips down Arthur’s bicep and Arthur snaps his eyes open to look at him. His skin tingles from Merlin’s touch and it’s almost as if a trail of warm sparks follow in the wake of Merlin’s fingers. 

“Just turn on your side,” Merlin says softly. He’s still moving his fingers along Arthur’s arm, and Arthur realizes that the feel of Merlin’s skin against his own is soothing. He gulps and complies with Merlin’s request but he tilts back a bit towards Merlin, wanting contact more than anything else.

The blanket shifts as Merlin scoots closer until his front is pressed to Arthur’s back. Merlin wraps his arm around Arthur’s stomach and threads his other arm under Arthur’s neck, enveloping him. He can feel Merlin’s breath against his ear. Arthur settles back against him as a soft sigh escapes Merlin’s lips. He lets his eyes drift closed as he focuses on the sensation he’s been craving. Merlin’s skin is soft and cool against his own.

“I missed you,” Merlin admits, his voice muffled. 

Arthur feels like he’s already exposed too much of himself by letting Merlin stay. So he pretends he didn’t hear.

“Go to sleep,” he murmurs instead. 

Arthur drifts towards sleep wholly satisfied and content. He doesn’t dwell on what that might mean.


End file.
